I used to hear voices, of this I'm not proud
Often while thinking, I'm "thinking" out loud
I mutter sometimes and don't really know why...
Some think when I mutter, I talk to myself.
But I no longer talk to "myself"
Just "me" and "I."

You never stray far
Always shouting
Always screaming

Attention
Attention
Attention
It is what you crave

I pray to break these chains
I pray to be set free
I pray to hear silence from thee

I fall into tragedy
Wishing you to die like Romeo
But never to resurrect like Juliet

Why must it always be you
But never me?

Why must you cling like a leech
******* me dry of all I have to offer
Why must you exist

Why can I not be free
Why can't I be healed
Is it because you stand in my way?

Must I cut these strings?
Must I shear away the pain?
Or forever let you drag me down

Because when I am alone
It is always you and me

But not today

Schizoaffective bipolar type is hell’s disorder.
It is a whirlwind of the curious mind.
A fusion of emotions, brick by boring brick.
Thoughts askew and twisted like twigs.  

Mania, depression, and psychosis sleep together.
Producing a break out of pandemonium.
Exulting energy, dejection, and voices taunt.
A battle within that seems to haunt.

Medication and therapy, tools of aid.
Will tackle hell’s disorder and put it in Pandora's box.
Be wary and do not open it no matter what.
Or the symptoms will crawl over every inch of your skin.

Put the pain in the past because you can still live your life.
You can work a 9 to 5, go on hikes, travel, and ride a bike.
What is something you look forward to? They always ask.
I sigh and answer: freedom.

As if a mother of two children were just given the news
That both children were killed by a murderous fiend
When she tries to inhale but the surrounding air seems deprived of oxygen
So breathing becomes useless as she tries to think
And her heart feels now like it's been lodged in her throat
All the voices of people seem so far away
This is how depression is for me.

I pace around, adoring each flower.
I’m not nervous. I just have bipolar.
I’m tapping my fingers for ten hours.  
I’m not restless. I just have bipolar.

I wake up four times during the nighttime.
My heartbeat flies out of my very chest.
Awake. It’s been hours since watching crime!
Alive. I begin prepping for a test.

My words bounce back around the four drywalls.
Like a child, thoughts scamper through my mind.
Abruptly I laugh. Then I start to bawl.
My emotions begin to intertwine.

I make mindless plans with seven people.
I say something out of pocket to Van.
Now I try to use a tattoo needle.
****! I just tossed and broke my only fan.

What if the voices I hear are from God?
Then I am Satan, and we’ll stay at war.
I’ll strike him so with my ruby rod.
And impale him down into the earth’s core.

What if the voices I hear are from space?
I’m an alien with horns and a spot.
No one believes these voices are my race.
They do comment and understand my thoughts.

What if the voices I hear are man-made?
I shall sail the seas like Columbus–
through the stormy nights where I greet afraid.
I’ll find the land this man encompasses.

And I’ll ask him why he made me this way.
Does this mean I’m special– brought to a curse?
These voices persecute me every day.
They have become the air that I breathe.

My mind is louder than New York City.
I tell it to shut up, and it’ll yell back.
I tell my story. Some say I’m gritty.
How can I be brave? I let them do this.

My mind dominates until I have none.
Some of them complain more than my grandma.
Voices play games with me till it’s no fun.
They nibble parts of my brain, and they gnaw.

Oh, voices, voices, why do you taunt me?
It is amusing. I don’t let others bully.
I let my mind become the enemy.
**** these voices! You have already won, you, see?

I watched “A Beautiful Mind” by John Nash.
How can this mind be beautiful when it’s all gone?
I do draw what I see throughout the day.
I realized these figures took my mind away.

Sometimes I think I am alone
And I don't know where to go
Sometimes I wonder why I feel
So utterly inhuman

The things that I remember doing
That I could not possibly have done
Though I have hurt a lot of people
I also remember killing one

My name was Ire, I was transformed
He screamed, but still I struck him down
My hands, they trembled, then I was gone
I was a murderous hellhound

The next morning I awoke
And fear was struck in all of them
I wonder what I actually did
I wonder where my victim went

Who are you today?

I am
hurt by the fact
you can deceive and love so perfectly
at the same
time
Frightened
by your sublime.

Who are you today?

I know not
who you are any longer.
I do not know which person
I would be talking to
or living with.

Get back to the spirited,
kind and trustworthy constant
that you
once were
before you strayed off
Before your dis-ease
You have a Constant
Like a star,
a knowing
Unwavering
        Please find him
And hold on
as if your life
Depended
on it.